


shall I stay (would it be a sin?)

by therjolras



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Illnesses, Near Death Experiences, Non-Linear Narrative, True Love, couples talking about things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therjolras/pseuds/therjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Whether you have seen it or no, my son has tipped his life and will into your clumsy, earnest hands. That cannot be undone, not unless you toss them from you and extinguish them entirely.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	shall I stay (would it be a sin?)

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT ANNE OF THE ISLAND. The last two chapters left me sad and empty-- where is the GUILT? THE PAIN?! I wrote it, because I couldn't find it. I've read through Anne of Windy Poplars and have begun Anne's House of Dreams, and there's nothing to disprove that this didn't happen, so it's canon-compliant. Sort of. So there.  
> Dedicated to Jo, who got me into this mess and also tidied up some of Anne's vocab for me. (I hate you, Jo. Thank you so much.)  
> title from "can't help falling in love" because that song is So??? shirbert??? i don't even know.

Gilbert was worrying his mother, although it had yet to occur to him. His eyes were a fraction too bright, his face a fraction too flushed, but he was moving perfectly fast enough. “I can’t stay, Mother, Miss Stacy has a big test for us today and I can’t very well let Anne Shirley beat me again,” he told her as he jammed on his cap and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Mrs. Blythe had no time to fuss before he was out the door and the door was swinging shut behind him. 

He returned early, as she had expected, with a note from Miss Stacy stating that he should be in bed and a quick word of praise for his dedication. That evening, following the second class the Queen’s hopefuls were taking, Moody Spurgeon stopped by. He did not stay long, just long enough to tell Mrs. Blythe hello and goodbye and inform Gilbert that he and Anne had tied for top marks on Miss Stacy’s test and Anne was “not happy about it.”

“And mind you get better quick, cause she’s bound to take the next one easy if you’re laid up,” Mrs. Blythe overheard him adding. Gilbert was out of bed and perfectly well the next morning.

Mrs. Blythe worried.

==

“My mother wants you over for tea,” Gilbert informed Anne, leaning against the veranda railing and giving her a smile. Anne set aside the heaps and heaps of organdy that would eventually become a dress and returned the smile: they were both the kind of smiles that were simply happy to  _ be,  _ to be in one another’s company with the promise of happiness then and later on. 

“It took her long enough,” Anne said thoughtfully. “Considering we’re engaged now. Did she say when?”

“This afternoon, if you’re free,” Gilbert replied. He smiled at her again. Anne smiled back. Then the simple, wonderful reality of the both of them set them laughing. Davy appeared to inquire if they were well “for Marilla’s sake.” Anne sent him packing with the information that they were perfectly well and happy.

“And turned in the head, no doubt,” Davy commented, going indoors again. Gilbert snorted. 

“Perhaps a little,” he said when Davy was out of earshot. 

“I can come for tea this afternoon,” Anne said. “Will you come for me?”

“Of course,” Gilbert replied, and offered her another smile of the simplest happiness before turning back down the lane. Within hours he returned, in his buggy and dressed for tea, and Anne bid Davy behave himself and left. The drive around to the Blythes was more circuitous than walking, but possibly quicker, and it offered them both the simple pleasure of sitting together and talking like they’d always done-- but happier, somehow. It ended too soon, but the both of them always thought so. 

Mrs. Blythe greeted Anne as Gilbert put the buggy away, and they all took seats as Mrs. Blythe questioned Anne about her studies and the societies at Kingsport and Redmond. She was perfectly civil, a lovely hostess, but Anne sensed something-- something about her demeanor that there was an uncomfortable conversation still to be had. It occurred to her that she knew what Mrs. Blythe meant to discuss, and the knowledge in turn set her to thinking she didn’t want Gilbert to hear it.

“Gilbert, dear,” she told him softly, “I believe I left my handkerchief in the buggy seat.”

He frowned, but “I’ll fetch it,” was all he said, all earnest, and left the room. Anne, already weary, turned to Mrs. Blythe.

“Is there something worrying you, ma’am?” She asked, setting down her tea. Mrs. Blythe, looking older and sadder in the span of moments, pressed her lips together and replied, 

“There is, Anne Shirley, and by now I’m sure you know what it is.”

“Gilbert,” Anne said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Blythe said. “My son, who left for school in the peak of health and returned regularly in the peak of health, until news reached me that you had turned down his proposals.” She met Anne’s eyes steadily, sternly, as she set down her teacup. “Until, as I understand it, you broke his heart.”

“Mrs. Blythe--” Anne began.

“No, let me finish,” Mrs. Blythe interrupted. “Anne Shirley, my son kept himself well and bright for you for long years before you were even friends; no illness could hold him down so long as you were waiting for him. You cannot tell me that a change was not exacted when you turned him away, time and time again. Had he died in July, it would have been on your hands.”

“And I know it better than any,” Anne said, before she could continue. Distress and remorse made her voice shaky, put tears in her eyes; merry, vibrant Mrs. Blythe was no better. Anne went on, “Had he died then part of me would have died with him, Mrs. Blythe, and I would have longed to follow him knowing that it was I that had cost him. There is nothing you can tell me that I did not already know. It was I that broke his heart, I that brought him to the brink of death. I cannot un-do it; all I can do is pray that I never, ever have leave nor ability to do such harm to him again.”

“You will pray in vain,” Mrs. Blythe said quietly. “Whether you have seen it or no, my son has tipped his life and will into your clumsy, earnest hands. That cannot be undone, not unless you toss them from you and extinguish them entirely.”

Anne knew. Knew, believed, understood, the word was beyond her, as were all words save two: “Forgive me,” she whispered, and Mrs. Blythe sighed and smiled. 

“It was yours when you saved him,” she replied. “Now I fear you must seek his.”

==

It began, like many things had before it, and like many things would when it was done, with a wink. The wink was closely followed, a bit less traditionally, by indignation; that in turn was closely followed by a smashed slate, which was so odd as to be considered a rarity. The whole ordeal was the birth of a two-year grudge held by miss Anne Shirley; it was also, however, the birth of Gilbert Blythe’s life-long admiration of her. His admiration held through rivalry and heartbreak, through camaraderie and apathy; his determination to live up to her, to be worthy of her, turned to his living  _ for  _ her, whether he intended it or not. The unfortunate side of this, of course, was that when Anne deemed him unworthy-- unworthy, unattainable, unloveable--  he no longer had something to live for. His sense of self-preservation eluded him; he threw himself into his studies, hoping to forget the life he’d failed to earn, and life failed him in return.

Of course, life could never truly forget him.

==

Marilla and Dora were preparing dinner when Gilbert knocked; Davy answered the door, and treated Gilbert straightaway to a look of utter aggrievedness. “Here for Anne?” He asked. Gilbert replied the affirmative; Davy stepped aside to let him in. “She’s in the gable, and in a right state. I s’pect Mrs. Rachel would think it mighty scandalous to send you up, but she’s out at the Andrews’s so go on ahead.” That seemed to amuse him in spite of whatever had aggrieved him, which Gil was starting to think involved Anne. After thanking Davy he set off for the east gable straightaway, without even greeting Marilla-- which he suspected might have scandalized Mrs. Lynde even more than going up to Anne’s room on his own.

(Not that such an idea hadn’t occurred to Gil, in a more scandalous context; but in the context current, coming back into the sitting room to find his mother with tears in her eyes and Anne not there at all, the idea was little more than an embarrassing memory.)

Anne’s voice murmured a reply when he knocked, and he entered quietly. “It’s me,” he said, and hesitated, for all he saw of Anne was a huddled lump on her bed wrapped up in a quilt. “Davy let me in. Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you Gil,” Anne replied, but her voice was garbled, funny, pained. Like, Gil thought, she’d been crying. Risking the scandal of Mrs. Lynde finding out and never letting anyone hear the end of it, he knelt on the near end of the bed and laid a hand on a part of the Anne-lump that seemed to be a shoulder. “Anne, please tell me what’s troubling you.”

“I’m no good, Gil,” Anne murmured. “Your mother was right, I’ve only ever hurt you.” She shifted, pulling away from him; Gil hurried to follow, catching her by the shoulder again.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “We’ve been good to each other, haven’t we? We’ve been lovely friends and better. And we’ll be lovely still, I promise.”

“No, Gil,” Anne said, still without looking at him. “I’ve been mean and hateful and cold to you-- oh, Gil, if you’d died with that fever it would’ve been my fault, and your mother agreed. It was me being so awful to you that made you so ill and susceptible.” Her voice broke, but she pressed on: “I’m not worthy to care for your life, Gil. And I never was--” her voice failed her. The end of her sentence trailed off into a sob, and another, and another. Gilbert’s nerve failed him; he felt then that all he could do was hold her, comfort her, until his words and even his ability to speak returned to him.

“See now, Anne,” he finally managed to say, although his voice was a mite hoarse, “We’re going to get into a lot of trouble with ourselves if we keep thinking we’re not worthy of each other. I reckon it’s not very healthy.” Anne gave a very unladylike snort.

“All you ever thought you were unworthy of was a snobbish child who could hold a grudge like anything,” she said. “Even if she was clever. And you, Gil, you’re brilliant and kind and-and--”

“And only human,” Gilbert said. “Just like you.” Anne sighed, long and deep, and rolled into his hand again, which was enough of a reassurance to him of her affections, but perhaps not of her comfort. “Anne,” he said. “Do you love me? Truly?”

“I--” Anne hesitated. “I do, Gil. I do.”

“And I, Anne Shirley, love you,” Gilbert said. “More than anything. And because I love you-- because I  _ know _ you-- because we’re going to be  _ married,  _ Anne, and it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever known-- that’s why I trust you with this. My life. Because I don’t know of anyone else who could be more worthy of it. And Anne?”

“Yes?” Anne replied, turning her head to look at him. Her hair was a mess from lying on it, and her eyes were red, but she was calm and her gaze was steady. 

“Can you imagine that my life would be in better state without you in it?”

“I don’t suppose it would be, any more than mine would be if you were lost to me,” Anne replied, in a tone that suggested her good sense was returning to her. Gilbert smiled, relief seeping quickly and steadily into his bones. 

“That’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “So, I suppose, we ought to be over all this fussing about past mistakes… and go off and make new ones, hm?”

“I suppose,” Anne said, sitting up and smiling at him. “Like letting Miss Rachel know we were up here by ourselves?”

“Oh, no, that’s a terrible idea,” Gilbert said quickly, and they both laughed, and Anne rolled herself out of the lump of quilt and they went downstairs, at better peace with one another and themselves than they’d have been otherwise.

“Whatever,” Davy confided to Milty Boulter later, “That means.”


End file.
